


good, great, and other acceptable synonyms

by peculiarblue



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Date Night, F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lol what mid-credit scene never heard of her, michelle jones is dating peter parker and knows how cosmically privileged she is to be doing that, peejay RISE!!!, pizza and ice cream and bubblegum oh my!, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: Having a crush on Peter Parker is, objectively, a good experience.But dating Peter Parker? Entirely too good.(alternatively: peter runs out of good date ideas so mj makes him promise to never take her on a 'good' date ever again)





	good, great, and other acceptable synonyms

**Author's Note:**

> taking a breather from writing soul-consuming aus for some post ffh fluff and one really good date
> 
> mid credit-scene??? suddenly i can't read!

Peter Parker is exactly the kind of boy you want to grow up and have a crush on. Michelle knows that. Feels it in her gut that first day his lopsided smile stings like an eager sip of tea when its still too hot and his untamed hair cuts through her like cracking the spine of a new paperback book.

He’s a good crush to have. A good, crushable, guy to have a crush on.

He’s cookie cutter good. Smart, charming, loved by authority figures and dogs. Would probably know how to put up a white picket fence and fix your leaky sink.

Peter Parker is the one crush out of all the crushes you’re bound to have in your lifetime of a romantic resume to actually feel good. Because historically speaking, crushes certainly had to have gotten their name for their soul crushing and consuming tendencies.

But not Peter Parker, no. He’s good to you.

He’s good to you until he turns up bloody on a bridge in a far away European country and kisses you when his hands feel sticky and he tastes faintly of evil drone dust.

But then again, by that point, things are _way_ past crush.

(“I do just have like, sticky fingers in general,” he tells her, stuck between the armrests of a crowded flight home, “Because of the the bug thing.” And all she takes from the conversation is that he should brush up on his AcaDec flashcards because spiders are arachnids and if Spider-Man doesn’t use the proper terminology then who’s to say the entire framework of scientific classification won’t just cave in on itself?

“Have I ever told you you’re like, the coolest person I’ve ever met?”

And by way of proving it, his hands stick to hers the whole glorious 7 hours and 55 minutes.)

Having a crush on Peter Parker, _her_ Peter Parker — not the standard universal feel-good boy she’s sure everyone imagines when they write hearts on the back of cheap paper folders and pretend their moms can’t read about when they confess their love with a sham of an invisible ink pen diary they stuff under their beds— is, objectively, a good experience. Sure, they were both awkward as shit and acted like all the big words they used at their fancy smart people school suddenly stopped existing when breathing in the same air as each other. But it was exactly the way you wanted your perfect, high school crush to pan out.

But _dating_ Peter Parker? A whole other story.

It’s like, objectively, _too_ good.

Which sounds like a shitty thing to complain about, especially after getting back from a nightmare of a romp around Europe where you were subject to at least four and a half near death experiences. But, MJ can’t figure out why dating Peter Parker doesn’t really feel like having a crush on him.

She’s expecting that “yeah, I’m dating Peter Parker” feeling to swell up in her chest, but she’s met with an unsatisfactory blip of “I’m dating this clone of Peter Parker that plans good dates and speaks in full sentences and wears a new shirt, ironed, no puns”. 

Call her ungrateful, sure, but dates that work out? Not on the short list of reasons why you date Peter Parker. It’s why you crush on him, hard, but not why you date him. You _date_ Peter Parker because he’s the exact opposite of predictable and nowhere near the personality-less phantom you conjured up whenever your health teacher gave one of those awfully embarrassing talks.

Real Peter Parker reveals himself to be: kind of a hot mess, charmingly clueless, as wonderful to look at with a baggy shirt and without, and holds your hands when they’re sticky—the superhero-equivalent of sweaty—and thinks you’re the reason rainbows exist, or something like that. Peter Parker doesn’t always know the right thing to say or to do but wants to so, so, badly, so bad that it kind of makes everything he says and does be the right thing anyway. All of which came to life while traipsing around hijacked European cities and dodging elemental monsters from hell so like, weird kiss on London Bridge? Hell yeah. This is why you date Peter Parker. Why MJ does it specifically.

But back on US soil, Peter Parker gets good again. Plans dates, dresses up, doesn’t stick to her hand or cancel dates on emergency bug-boy business. (“I know spiders are arachnids, MJ, but it’s the only nickname you’ve given me that doesn’t include the words ‘dork’, ‘loser’ or ‘nerd’ so I’m trying to make it stick.”)

Peter Parker is on time to things, she likes the places he takes her (the Morbid Anatomy Museum in Brooklyn? Is he kidding? On date three? Because like, not to be dramatic or anything, but she’s like 67% convinced soulmates might be real after that one…), and he drops a book off on her windowsill one night just because and he says charming stuff before he kisses her goodnight.

She’s nearing a whole month of a confident, charming Peter Parker, and MJ is sure she swapped boyfriends accidentally at the Newark airport.

When he knocks on her door on date eight-and-three-quarters wearing a white buttoned-up shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his hair tucked behind his ear, MJ isn’t complaining. No sir, no complaints, more tight white shirts please and thank you. But, she can’t tell you she’s dating Peter Parker. No way. She’s dating his not-an-idiot clone. And after the trip she’s had, you can’t tell her that statement sounds half as ridiculous as it seems.

Could be drones. Freshly ironed, confident, tingly kiss on the cheek drones.

Date 12 chugs along and arrives in the middle of the worst week of the summer. It’s too hot to try to live up to her new, really good boyfriend’s really good aura, but she she’s proud of the effort she put into putting on a sundress.

_why do people still rob banks when things like paypal exist_

_it would be so much easier to hack someones venmo_

_or do some shady business with bitcoin_

_do you think it would be a good idea to tell this to the next criminal spider-man thwarts or ???_

MJ tugs on a shoelace as her phone lights up with the texts, and if she is as smart as she claims she is (she is) and has accurately deduced where this train of thought is going, things are, for the first time in a while looking pretty good. Or not-good, depending on how you look at it.

She responds quickly:

**_not a good idea_ **

**_one of your worst actually_ **

**_only made worse but the use of the word ‘thwart’_ **

_you couldn’t have told me that 20 mins ago???_

**_punctuation other than ??? exists you know_ **

**_everything okay?_ **

_yeah_

_running late tho_

**_especially since you responsibly parked on a rooftop to text me this realization …_ **

**_and are not swinging to my window currently_ **

_i ???_

_don’t know ???_

_what ???_

_you’re talking about ???_

**_text me when you’re home safe_ **

**_we can take a rain check :)_ **

_no!_

**_nice exclamation point_ **

_i’m good let’s date_

**_we are dating peter_ **

**_still will be tomorrow_ **

_but I wanna go on a date tonight_

**_i’ll meet you at your place in an hour_ **

…

_if you heard that crash it totally was not me swinging into the back of a taxi when I got this text_

And MJ is sure all her dreams come true when she knocks on his door, late that afternoon, and it opens to a full view of that ratty telekinesis t-shirt.

“Everything still okay?”

“What do you mean okay? I’m good, I’m great. Going on a date with you so, good. Good is an understatement actually.”

MJ has think through that breath twice before she comprehends it and wow, here’s what she was missing. Peter Parker.

“You should start studying your SAT words, Peter, or we’ll be stuck in an endless cycle of good dates forever.”

“Great dates. We’ll go on great dates.”

“Not an improvement,” MJ squints, tilts her head and hits the doorframe next to her.

Peter rocks up on his toes in time with the swell of his chest in a deep breath, “Hi, MJ.”

“Did we not already say ‘hi?’”

He shakes his head and a little lock of hair on the top of his head flies loose.

Peter Parker, good to have you back.

“Am I coming in?”

“No, no, good date. Great date, out there,” and one hand points out to the hallway she stands in, another shoves nervously into his pocket.

“Okay,” she hums, tilts her chin down at her sundress with a little shrug, “I didn’t know where we were going so I hope this is good.”

“It’s good,” he nods quickly, eyes scanning her up and down, “Really good. Like, you invented the word good. Wearing that dress.”

Dating Peter Parker feels like this. Feels like brown eyes on floral dress and summer skin in an apartment where AC doesn’t work in the hallway.

“Is that Michelle?” a voice calls out behind him.

At the sound, the boy in front of her tips the door open a smidge more and hits his forehead in the process. Dating Peter Parker feels like the laugh that bubbles in her chest when she sways back on her heels after it happens.

After a moment he yells back, “Yeah, May, it’s Michelle.”

“Hi, Mrs. Parker,” she waves when the woman appears in the view of the door frame.

“May, honey, please,” she smiles and waves off MJ’s formalities.

“She likes when we make her believe she’s still the cool aunt,” Peter rolls his eyes as he turns back towards MJ.

“Ned thinks I’m the cool aunt.”

“So do I,” MJ nods, and watches the other woman beam.

“Can she stay for dinner? I think she should stay for dinner, like, at least once a week from now on.”

MJ bites her bottom lip in a shy smile. Crush-stage Peter Parker has nothing on her when it comes to wooing authority figures.

“We’re leaving,” Peter punctuates, trying to slip out quickly.

“Where are you headed tonight?”

MJ smirks before answering his aunt, though the answer’s more for her boyfriend than anyone else, “Someplace good.”

“Great,” he leans up and whispers, eyes twinkling.

“Well, be careful, have fun, text me, and... nope, think I got it all there, ” May wraps her fingers around the edge of the door and starts to push it closed, smiling, “Enjoy your _someplace good_.”

MJ steps in time next to Peter as they walk towards the building’s stairs. She watches him play with his fingers, twisting knots in his knuckles for a whole thirty seconds and it’s the best thing she’s seen since he swiped his palms on his pants 5 times before the opening credits of their movie on the plane ride home had even started.

So she grabs one hand with her own and pulls them down the stairs and it’s sweaty and sticky and familiar and no drones about it, definitely someplace good.

Summer heat hits them head on the second they step out of the apartment building and MJ can already feel her loose curls finding every available piece of skin to semi-permanently glue itself to. Still, it’s hard to not smile as they start down the block.

“I saw you on the news right before I left my place.”

“Really?” Peter practically yelps, his shoulders popping up as he walks next to her, but then he clears his throat and washes out his excited giggle, “Sorry, sorry, it’s just still a cool thing to hear.”

“I’d think it was even weirder if you _didn’t_ still find it to be the coolest thing ever.”

“Well that’s not entirely true,” he traces a divot in the sidewalk while they wait at a crosswalk, “I think you’re the coolest thing ever.”

MJ bumps her shoulder into his when the light signals for them to walk, and a heat surges through her that the rising temperatures have nothing to do with.

“Good answer.”

She laughs a little as they speed across busy city traffic, Peter sticking her fingers in between his so she doesn’t get lost in mobs of people. Its a quiet little thing he’s always done, keeping them together like that. Obviously she knows how to navigate crowds crosswalks, but something about the act sits funny somewhere deep in her chest. Like, Spider-Man is out there every other night keeping people safe in big, swinging ways that earn him a spot on the news. And cool, obviously. She’s a fan of his world-saving tendencies in general.

But there’s something about Spider-Man sneaking his ability to climb up multi-story buildings with his bare hands for something as small as not losing her when they cross traffic. Something about it gets to her. Like flip flops click clacking inside her chest. Or the way you swing a little when the Ferris wheel stops turning. She feels it, makes her swing a little on her own feet, literally, because dating Peter Parker is like asking to skydive for the unforeseeable future.

He stops a few blocks down, preps her for another cross by slipping his fingers in between hers again, but she notices his eyes squint just a little and flit between the street in front of them and the one to their right.

“Please don’t tell me we’re lost just four blocks from your apartment.”

“We’re not lost, we’re good,” he shakes his head definitively and marches them onward, sweat slipping down the swoop of his neck.

“Great.”

“Great.”

“I just said that.”

“I wanted to say it again,” he smiles back at her, “Because this is going to be great. A great date.”

“You poet.”

“I know how much you love poetry, MJ.”

She leaves him be as they continue to walk, tries not to overanalyze his hesitation at each turn, because sue her, he’s nice to look at in ways most normal humans aren’t in the current conditions. He barely breaks a sweat as she peels the strap of her dress off of her shoulder where it fell. Stupid super-human genes messing with her normal-human hormones.

So it follows, then, that her usually heightened observation skills were bound to slip up. The temperature is definitely high eighties and she wouldn’t be surprised if the real-feel was pushing a hundred. Her body buzzes at every point of contact Peter’s body makes with hers as they squeeze through crowded streets and every other spot of her body shines and sticks and begs her to cool down. She dedicates a good portion of her mental capacity to studying Peter’s biceps, like any human with a brain would, because _hello_ , and another large chunk strategizes how long she can go on without a sip of water. The rest of her thinking is not plentiful, not focused, and therefore misses all the warning signs that they’re walking in a complete circle around Queens in this hellish weather with no _someplace good_ in sight.

Which is why she only realizes it when she stands next to Peter’s apartment building again, eyes squinted up at the windows before falling back down to face him.

“Did we just—“

“Walk in a circle?” Peter drops her hand and fists his own two together, “Technically, _no_.”

Her eyebrows scrunch in the middle of her forehead and she narrows her eyes, “Technically _yes,_ Peter, that’s exactly what we did. If you were lost you could’ve just asked.”

“I wasn’t lost.”

“I knew you were lost on 15th.”

“But I _wasn’t_.”

“Look I really don’t care, but it’s the middle of July and I can’t enjoy being right right now as much as I would be enjoying it if we were indoors so,” MJ tries to smirk but it falls kind of flat, “Just tell me where we’re going, Lost Boy.”

“We’re not— I mean— it’s—“ One of Peter’s arms lifts up and scratches at the back of his neck and it’s so cute it kind of hurts her. Or it’s the heatwave.

“Peter?”

“So, fun story,” Peter’s eyes flit up and trace the clouds around the sky the same way they danced around the flowers on her dress back in his hallway, “Remember when we started dating?”

“Yes, I happened to be there.”

“Right, good, it was good, the whole…” his free hand waves wildly in between them, gesturing whatever words seem to get lost in his throat.

And maybe she likes him an unhealthy amount because she gets it, and nods in response, “Yeah, it was good. Necklace, a kiss, an evil monster projection, the whole nine yards.”

His laugh comes out more like a wheeze but he smiles on, “Three kisses.”

“Three good kisses.”

“Three great kisses.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…” she hums, and likes when his laugh sounds with more of a bounce this time.

“Yeah, see, the thing about the whole thing is, good or great as it was, I was totally not equipped to handle it.”

“To handle…?”

“Dating you,” he says, eyes wide as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Because you’re you and I’m _me_ , and well, have you met me?”

“You know, I don’t think I have. Michelle Jones,” she cocks her head in mock thought and extends a hand for a shake, “Nice to finally meet you, Peter Parker.”

He paces next to her before breathing out a huffy, embarrassed little, “On the drive home from the airport, May and I looked up this list online. 10 Good Dates for Broke New Yorkers with girlfriends out of their league.”

“Specific.”

“I added on that last part myself.”

Stupid boy. His bottom lip juts out nervously and he bites down on it with a punctuated sigh and holy shit, no way this is just the heatwave. She’s all somersaults on the streets of Queens and he’s not even doing anything.

“So what is this, date eleven?”

“Twelve, if you count the swing around the city,” he nods.

People buzz past them, two young kids in love on a sidewalk totally oblivious to the heat that hits them all around because it’s nothing compared to the shots straight at the chest just from prolonged eye contact alone.

“It’s really sweet that you thought that much about it I really, honestly, in the nicest way possible, could care less if we go on good dates.”

“What?”

“This is super embarrassing to admit and I’m only doing it because you just confessed something equally as embarrassing but,” she chokes up a small laugh, “I like doing anything with you. Good, bad, or ugly.”

“I was hoping for more like… good, great, and amazing.”

“I don’t care,” she shrugs, “Really. We could’ve just like, hung out in your room or my room and chilled.” MJ watches Peter’s cheeks light up a bright red and stumbles to add on quickly, “Not like _that_ , I just mean, you know, it doesn’t take much.”

“Right, well,” Peter hums, shakily, “Now that you know I’m a giant boyfriend fraud, I could just walk you home. Get out of this heat.”

He deflates a little and it makes MJ feel like, not exaggerating or anything, the class bully just broke his Spider-Man action figure on the playground and he’s trying not to cry about it. Literally, it’s so awful. He feels so bad, genuinely.

And MJ remembers how good she felt crushing on Peter Parker for months (years) and crushing on Peter Parker is the one stint in a person’s romantic life that is supposed to make you feel good and it’s _crushing_ just how _not good_ Peter Parker feels standing in front of her right now.

“You promised me a date.”

His head tilts up and he studies her face for a few moments, sure she’s playing at something.

“MJ, I literally don’t have any good ideas left in me.“

“So, don’t take me on a good date.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” _A lie_. She heard his stomach about six blocks back and knows he has to eat at least three full meals after an insane day out as Spider-Man. Which, she also knows he had today.

She pointedly glares over at him.

His lips turn up and his eyebrows perch, “But I _could_ be hungry,” he tries again, “I could be hungry with you at the pizza place on the next block.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Will it look weird if the two of us order a whole pie?”

“Do you think that’s something I care about?”

“No.”

“Good, then let’s get a whole pie.”

“Large?”

“Great.”

“I don’t think I could ever mention enough just how cool you are, MJ.”

“Amazing,” she squeezes a ten dollar bill in his hand, then starts to back away, “I’ll go save us a table.”

“Do you remember DC?”

“I think the better question is do _you_ remember DC?” MJ eyes him over the pizza situated on the small booth between them, watches as the cheese pulls at Peter’s third slice.

“Very funny,” he blows on the tip of the pizza, takes a bite, “I mean, do you remember talking to me at the bottom of the Washington monument? I’ve always wondered if you could tell.”

“Sort of,” she muses, “I mean I could sort of tell, looking back on it. Definitely remember it though.”

“You looked nice,” he adds, like that was the point he was meaning to get at all along, and something pulls at her insides like the ends of the cheese when Peter pulls out another slice for her.

“You remember _that?_ ”

“Definitely.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious,” he laughs, “Your hair was up and you were wearing the same sneakers that are on your feet right now.”

Boy was right. God he is infuriatingly _good_.

“I like these shoes.”

“So do I,” Peter nods, takes another bite of pizza, continues mid-chew, “An I wike oo.”

“Talking with food in your mouth is terms for immediate break up, no matter how charming what you’re saying is,” she crumples up the napkin in her hands and throws it at his face, but he dodges it.

“MJ, no, c’mon, you paid for our pizza, you gotta at least finish it out.”

“For pizza only,” she eyes him again, scooting back in her sticky plush seat and leaning her head on the top of the booth behind her.

“Do you remember what _I_ was wearing?”

“Spandex.”

“It’s not spandex,” he grumbles, “Actually, when I was designing this new one…” He goes on for a bit, his eyes lit up and his pizza sacrificed to the plate in front of him to tell the story with the full dramatics of his hand gestures. He tells her tons of things that wouldn’t stick in her brain even if it wasn’t 5pm on the hottest day of the year, even if she wasn’t staring at the cutest boy to probably ever exist, arguably. And MJ knows she’d be content to sit here and try to listen to him forever, to fail at listening to him forever because she gets distracted by the way his hair bounces like it shouldn’t or his smile gets so big his eyes have to squint to make enough room on his face for that kind of beam.

“Do you like the black or the blue better?”

“I like the black suit,” she hums, “But I could be totally biased given the circumstances.”

He laughs and his chest rises, his shoulders sinking back into the seat, “And you weren’t even seeing it when it looked its best.”

“I wasn’t looking too great at the moment either, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh I remember it,” he finishes his last bite of pizza, “Definitely the best view.”

“Definitely biased”

“Of course,” he giggles, “But also right.”

Dammit, could he chill out with the heart eyes for a second? It’s making it hard to breathe.

“Wanna go halfsies on the last piece?”

“Absolutely,” he tugs at the remaining piece, hands her one half, “Good, call Chelle, this pizza was so g—“

“Don’t say good,” she yelps, and he freezes, his sliver of a slice caught freeze-frame an inch from his open mouth, “It’s not good pizza, because this is not a good date.”

“Right, right,” he sighs, “Right this pizza was so, uh, hm…” his top lip toys with his bottom one, and MJ can practically hear every gear in his head turning.

“Can you seriously not think of any other word that means good?”

“You’re distracting!” He says, takes a defiant bite of his pizza and MJ sinks into her seat, laughing, trying not to blush, glad to hear that distracting bit is very much mutual.

She pulls out her phone and types something into the bar in google, slides the phone across to him with a smug smile, “Peter Parker, meet your new best friend, the thesaurus.”

“I know what a thesaurus is.”

“You could use it.”

He rolls his eyes, bites the last bit of his pizza and uses a free hand to scroll down the page. MJ finishes her half, and yeah, he’s right, the pizza is really good, but nothing compared to watching the little dance of his facial expressions as he tries to pick a word on her phone. He’s so—

“Satisfying,” he says, eyes wide and back up, locked with hers. “This pizza is so _satisfying_.”

“Well done,” she smirks, and something settles deep in her chest when she watches him tuck a fist under his chin to lean on and the light tap on his foot against her own, “Part 2?”

And there it is, swelling up somewhere deep in her chest.

_I’m dating Peter Parker._

“I tried watching _Stranger Things_ the other night. Couldn’t get into it.”

“Grounds for a break up, yet again.”

“There are so many shows I like that you won’t watch, too.”

“The difference is, shows that I want you to watch are actually good,” MJ smirks, hugs her arm around his a little tighter, for no reason, “Shows that you like are bad.”

“It’s an opinion!”

“Anyone who willingly watches _Sharknado_ doesn’t get to have opinions.”

“You’re coming over for Shark Week this year, with Ned,” he skips a little on his feet and it makes her heart bounce in time and the unbearable heat feel a little less stifling, “And it’s going to be good.”

“Good?”

“Exceptional. First-class. Up to snuff.”

“You’re kidding.”

“That’s a legitimate synonym listed on thesaurus.com for ‘good’ so I’m going to use it.”

“The breaking up with you tally is up to three, Peter, for the record.”

“Have I told you that you look really up to snuff in this dress tonight?”

“Make it stop!”

“It looks really unobjectionable on you.”

“Peter…”

“I mean, you always look pretty tiptop, not that it would matter to me at all, but I just thought you should know. You’re a shipshape girlfriend.”

“Wanna go sketch?”

“Sketch?”

“Like, at a park or something,” Peter quirks as they continue to walk, “We could sit on a bench and you could sketch.”

“That sounds boring for you,” she says, “Also, I didn’t bring my stuff.”

“Well, actually, the thing about you being fine with doing anything with me is very mutual. I think I’d have a _marvelous_ time sitting while you sketch people in crisis.”

Her heart expands and she’s sure it doesn’t fit inside her body.

“I haven’t sketched people in crisis in so long.”

“Really?”

“Been a little busy.” _Sketching you._

“Well, I think now would be a _superb_ time for starting again,” Peter squeezes her arm and his smile dances, “Where do you buy sketching stuff from?”

“You’re not buying me a new sketchpad.”

“You paid for pizza, so round two is mine, I think.”

She huffs in a way that usually makes her curls fly off her forehead, but instead they stay stuck together, the sticky heat passing normal levels of bearable.

“And a park would sound nice if it was any day but today,” she says, “I can last maybe five more minutes out here.”

Peter tugs on his bottom lip, his forehead creased in thought, and god, she’d love to draw him just like that.

After a moment, he brightens, “You know where people are _always_ in crisis?”

“Produce aisle or canned food aisle?”

“Freezer aisle?”

“I like the way you think,” Peter says, expression giddy, before pulling MJ to the left side of the supermarket.

“Because people are in a crisis over what ice cream to buy.”

“And worrying about getting it home before it melts.”

“And if they should even be buying ice cream to begin with,” she muses, “Because they’re on a hot girl summer diet that calls for no dairy products.”

“MJ, you’re so cool, I actually cannot stop thinking about it.”

“Nothing I just said was cool.”

“The fact that you said it at all was cool,” he says it as he peeks down an aisle, looking for the ice cream, “This one good?”

She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth and steadies her heart at the way Peter does this sigh-swoon type thing when he dramatically turns back to her.

“Sorry, is this one _satisfactory_?”

“Much better,” she smirks, “And it is.”

She settles against the back of a freezer door, one at the end of the aisle she’s sure will get the least amount of attention. Peter plops the small pad of paper in her lap and pulls out a new, pointy pencil.

“I love new pencils,” he smiles, pointing it over to her.

“I’d say that’s weird but I love new books, so.”

“So you’re a new books person, not a used. Good to know,” he taps his temple, like he’s storing away the most valuable information and he’s gotta keep it stored up forever. And the thing is, she thinks he’ll really never forget it.

“Well yeah, new books are nice, but most of my books are used. Or from the library.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how impressive it is that you read so much. And in such a variety.”

“I wouldn’t say impressive…”

“I haven’t picked up a book that wasn’t assigned for English class in like, seven years,” Peter says, plays with the hem of his shirt, “It’s mad impressive, MJ.”

“I like reading the same way you like watching sci-fi movies with Ned,” she hums, dates the top of her page in her brand new Peter Parker sketchbook, “I get to go to a different world for a little while. Tune out Flash’s voice, avoid physical activity. It’s more survival than impressive.”

“I think my depth of knowledge regarding alien life forms in multiple different universes is pretty impressive,” Peter sinks the top of his head into the crook of MJ’s neck, unprompted, but totally not unwelcome, “But when an apocalypse hits in a few years, it’ll totally be vital to my survival as well.”

“I can think of a few things higher than your cinematic resume that might keep you alive in an alien apocalypse.”

“Really? Because I really think _Star Wars_ is my best asset.”

“Her?”

“No, not enough crisis.”

“That guy?”

“He’s not in crisis he’s just straight up constipated or something.”

“The two girls, right over there,” Peter points and MJ follows his arm.

“Hot girl crisis chicks it is,” MJ smirks and looks down at her paper, “Good eye, Parker.”

“Commendable eye, actually,” he yawns a little, and MJ feels him twist and hug deeper into her side, “I could fall asleep right here.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

“But we’re on a date.”

“I don’t mind,” she says, truthfully, because he really looks like he could use it. Like he never shook off the jet lag and just, stays awake all day and all night either stopping crime or worrying there is crime happening that needs to be stopped and he’s not stopping it because he’s too worried about needing to stop it. “I’ll wake you up when I finish. Like, 10 minutes, tops.”

“Okay,” and she probably imagines the feeling of his eyelashes fluttering shut.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Okay cool, just checking.”

“Hey, Peter?”

“MJ?”

“Wanna head out?”

“You finished?”

“Not really, but one of the employees keeps looking at us and it’s giving me weird vibes, and also the freezer aisle in this sundress was only fun for the first 5 minutes.”

“MJ, _why_ didn’t you say something sooner?” He sits up quickly and shrugs off his thin blue flannel. Leave it to Peter Parker, dressed for a heatwave in his classic science-pun flannel look. He nudges MJ forward and wraps the soft material around her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

“Finish it,” he says, twisting to sit up fully now, shoulder pressed next to hers, “We’ll buy a pack of gum or something on the way out so they can’t say we aren’t paying shoppers.”

“You’re actually very cool too, Peter Parker.”

“Not as cool as you.”

“Bubblegum?”

“I like bubblegum.”

“Or mint?”

“I like mint.”

“You’re not really helping me if you say you like everything.”

“I like you.”

“Bubblegum it is.”

“I like you too,” she slides a dollar bill into the machine on the self-checkout kiosk, “In case you were wondering.”

He cheeses into the small video surveillance window and she feels like if everyone got to date their Peter Parker this way we’d surely be ten steps closer to world peace. Maybe twelve.

She chomps bright pink, fluorescent almost, bubble gum between her teeth while the sun is setting, wearing a pretty floral dress and her boyfriend’s jacket on a hot summer night. It really doesn’t get more rom-com than that.

And yet, shoving her quick sketches of supermarket customers at said boyfriend while they wander the streets of Queens, she’s sure it’s like no rom-com anyone’s thought to invent yet.

She likes it a whole lot more this way. Just hers.

“MJ, these are so…” he starts to say, looks up between her and the pad, a brow that screams worry but eyes that twinkle in a way that suggests otherwise, “Excellent. Really, really excellent.”

“Don’t lie for the sake of the joke,” she bumps him on his side, likes the way the little motion makes him sigh and giggle before settling back next to her, “They’re not even good.”

“Are you kidding? You just drew _that_ , sitting on the cold, hard floor of the freezer aisle,” Peter yells excitedly, “Picasso _wishes_ he had the talent.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, it’s so good. Excellent.”

“Up to snuff.”

“Above snuff.”

She knocks the side of her head against his, then sways back to standing upright as they continue to walk. He blows a bubble of bubblegum and pops it in her face, “Best $1.47 I’ve ever spent.”

“Biased.”

“But right,” he wiggles his eyebrows and laces his fingers through hers.

Sticky.

MJ doesn’t remember what she felt like pre-Peter Parker, but today, she feels kind of whole. Centered. Sticky.

“Do you ever use being sticky as an excuse to like, not get out of bed and do nothing all day?” She squeezes her fingers in his, “Because that would probably be the first thing I’d do.”

“That was not my first train of thought, no.”

“Probably what makes you the superhero in this relationship.”

“You’re pretty super.”

“Is that another synonym for good or…”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“How much would you hate it if I suggested we get ice cream for part 3 of this date?”

“Because we just sketched people in crisis buying ice cream?”

“Yeah, irony and whatnot.”

“I wouldn’t hate it at all.”

“This was the smartest thing we’ve ever done.”

“Easily,” she giggles, scooping a bit of double fudge chocolate off the top of Peter’s cup with her plastic green spoon, “And that’s saying a lot because I think we’re a pretty smart couple.”

“Not biased.”

“And definitely right.”

“Two people, six flavors,” Peter licks black cherry off his spoon, “The possibilities are endless.”

The table they’re sitting at outside a small ice cream shop on a corner a few blocks from her apartment is definitely too small, but she’s not complaining. It gives her a valid excuse to wrap her ankles around Peter’s and bump her elbow against his elbow and trick herself into thinking the heat that flushes her body is still just due to the weather. They each paid for a cup (“Wanna go halfsies for round 3?”) that they jam-packed with three flavors each, but they’re perched side by side in the middle of the small black table, and all ice cream is 100% free reign (“Peter we’ve swapped spit several times before this moment, it’s okay.”)

“What’s your winner?”

“Would I be boring if I said I stand by cookies and cream?”

“But rocky road is right there!”

“Please don’t say you’re going to break up with me again.”

“Evidence doesn’t lie Peter,” she shakes her head, scoops some of said rocky road, “I see no future here.”

He pouts like it isn’t the cutest thing the world has ever seen and swirls some vanilla on his spoon, “I miss you already.”

“I’m right here.”

“Well you won’t be when you dump me for my ice cream preferences.”

“Then I guess I won’t dump you.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Do you like holding hands?”

“What kind of weird trick question is this?”

“I’m serious,” Peter hums, swinging his hand next to hers after she drops her empty ice cream cup in the garbage and turns back to face him, “Because I feel like I always just instinctively hold your hand and never ask you if you want me to or not.”

“It’s still a stupid question.”

“I feel like you not answering means you don’t like it.”

“No, it means you reverted away from being my smart boyfriend that existed like, 20 minutes ago.”

The sun’s almost gone and the heat is definitely more bearable than it was this afternoon, but the crushing weight of how wonderful Peter Parker is gets less and less bearable by the minute.

They’re three blocks from her apartment and he’s just told her about this coffee shop/bookstore hybrid place he saw and asks if she’d like to do date thirteen sometime.

She wraps her pinky around his because the sun’s almost gone and the heat is more bearable but Peter Parker is not and if she hooked onto him any more than that she might fall through the concrete.

“So you like it…”

She thinks falling through the concrete doesn’t sound so bad.

“Wait, MJ,” Peter’s arm tugs her back when he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, “Weren’t we supposed to make a right to get to your place?”

“Were we?”

His lips thin out as he bites them together, looks up one street, at MJ’s face, down her floral dress and back around the street they were headed towards.

“If you were lost you could’ve just asked,” he giggles.

“I’m not lost.”

“Are you sure—“ Peter points up to the block before her apartment building, follows MJ as she slowly back up the opposite way, hand stretched out and making a grabby motion for him to follow.

It clicks, he runs to catch up, “Right, okay. Not lost. Is there always a part four to good dates? Because I wish I had figured out your aversion to good dates like, twelve dates sooner then.”

The summer night is more quiet than it was hot now, as she pushes her feet on the mulchy ground and kicks back on a creaky metal swing. Peter whizzes past her in opposite time.

“I bet I can go higher than you.”

“Of course you can go higher than me, Spidey” she turns to watch him fly past her, hands gripped at his sides. Sticky.

“Very nice of you to let me take you swinging again,” he laughs, proud of his play on words. She swings her feet back again and she gets a little higher.

MJ realizes when her stomach drops because Peter’s hopped off his swing and has taken to pushing her higher and higher from behind, that maybe dating Peter Parker is just like having a crush on him.

Because he still says all the wrong things that sound exactly right. He’s predictable in the most unpredictable ways. He’s charming and dorky and kinda looks like he could use a new hairbrush, but could also skip several days at the gym. She’d trust him to fix her leaky sink and she’ll go home in about twenty minutes and doodle hearts in her new sketchpad to match the hearts in his eyes.

He is exactly the kind of boy you grow up with a crush on and wishing you’ll date because even though she’s well on her way to independence and adulthood, the best way to describe Peter Parker is felt when she’s sitting on the swings at her little childhood community playground.

He tells her she looks pretty and she flies up.

Kicks her feet and swoops down when he blushes.

Every time he whispers in her ear it’s like the wind in her matted down summer curls.

Throws her head back and laughs like his bad science pun t-shirts.

Swing up. He likes her.

Swing down. “MJ, you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Tip back. Wiping ice cream off the corner of her lip.

Stomach drops. He holds her hand.

Peter Parker is exactly the kind of boy you want to grow up and have a crush on because you totally never have to grow up to have a successful crush on him. He makes your heart feel whole when he goes halfsies on a really satisfying piece of pizza.

“Can I help you?”

“What?”

“You haven’t moved your swing in like, four whole minutes,” MJ quirks at Peter as he lazily traces a foot around on the ground beneath him, “I’m _definitely_ going higher than you now.”

“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly, but he doesn’t move, just keeps looking at her, up, down, dip, “Just like looking at you here.”

“On a swingset?”

“You’re really pretty,” he grins, like the city doesn’t need to worry about electricity for the next month because Peter Parker’s beam has got it covered, “Which I don’t think I’ve mentioned today.”

“I think you have.”

“Well I should probably mention it again.”

The swings and this heatwave have nothing on Peter Parker.

“So… verdict?”

“Exceptional date, Peter Parker.”

“I have an exceptional girlfriend.”

“Thanks for getting lost,” MJ smiles, tugs the sleeves of the flannel down on her wrists because it’s the hottest day of the year but maybe if she makes herself look cold he’ll let her keep it.

“I’ll probably do it again,” he shrugs, “Is it a right or a left to get back to my apartment from here?”

“If you’re lost maybe you could just never leave,” she rocks up on her toes and the floorboards of her apartment hallway creak.

“Maybe.”

MJ sucks in a deep breath and smiles lightly.

“I take it back.”

“I’m not actually lost.”

“No I mean, the date. It wasn’t exceptional,” she says, “It was good.”

“Oh.”

“When I picked you up before, I said we were going to be stuck in an endless loop of good dates forever.”

“ _Oh.”_

“Yeah,” she bites her bottom lip, “I would like to start that endless cycle now.”

“Right,” Peter says, his cheeks scrunched up, “I could do that.”

“Could you?”

“Yeah,” he echoes, “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

“I know.”

(“But it was still like, _better_ than a good date, right?”)

“Much better.”

“Okay cool, just checking.”)

“How much would you hate it if I gave you a goodnight kiss right now?”

“I only accept up up to snuff-night kisses.”

Peter bounces on his feet and steps so close to MJ that she feels his breath on her cheek.

“Okay,” he giggles.

“For the excellent,“ He presses a peck on her cheek—

He kisses her forehead, “The great—“

“The exceptional,” on her nose—

“The up to snuff,” a swift brush on her opposite cheek—

“The shipshape,” he squeezes her hands and she feels his palms stick to hers, spider-business activated for no other reason than to keep her close. He giggles and she’s smiling so wide she’s sure she swallowed it whole. He pressed their foreheads together—

“Am I missing anything?” His question is barely above a whisper.

“ _Good god_ , you’re frustrating,” she breathes, and kisses him, whole on the mouth.

His lips part a little and he tastes faintly of bubblegum. She kisses him once, twice, three times. Her whole body tingles and swoops and swings and sticks right to him, her Peter Parker.

Her nose bumps his on kiss three and she’d die happy if he laughed into every kiss like that.

And it’s a good date, an exceptional date, so she goes for part four.

“ _Good_. I _knew_ I was missing something.”

Sue her, part five.

**Author's Note:**

> people have asked on my other works where to find me however i'm literally too boring to exist on any form of stan social media but i want you all to know how much i appreciate all your ridiculously thoughtful comments and notes about my writing and any time you post about me on your accounts. i don't deserve it. <3


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